


Impossible [He'd Never]

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dubious Consent, Frottage, M/M, Rape, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Spit As Lube, Tongue Fucking, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24953179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: The words repeat in his head like a mantra—impossible; he'd never—but they don't change a thing.
Relationships: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Impossible [He'd Never]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerberusia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/gifts).



When Scott accidentally brushes that glass bottle off Deaton's shelf, Isaac thinks nothing of it. Of course not, because Scott is just clumsy like that, and if it were a harmful substance, Deaton wouldn't even let them near it. Not without a warning, anyway.

As the bottle shatters on the floor, its purple powder contents engulf Scott in a thick plume that makes him sneeze and rims his eyes in red.

In hindsight, that should've been a telltale sign.

They exchange looks. Scott sneezes again. Isaac shrugs.

“Your mess,” he says, and that's that.

When they hit the showers after lacrosse that afternoon, Isaac notices an earthy tang he can't place mingling with the smells of shampoo and sweat and teenage hormones. As he tries to scent it inconspicuously, he realizes it's coming from Scott's direction, and when he looks at his friend, he finds him staring right back. Only a moment later, Scott casts down his eyes, but that moment seems to last a lifetime because the look he gives Isaac is intense, scary, predatory—completely unlike Scott.

In hindsight, that is also a telltale sign.

Later, Scott complains about feeling nauseous and having a headache, and Isaac can't help but notice that strange smell clinging to him has grown stronger. Isaac also feels Scott's gaze on him through dinner. Perhaps they need to speak with Deaton about what exactly that powder was. Seems like it's having an impact on Scott after all.

And yet, Isaac shrugs off his looming unease.

 _It's nothing,_ he thinks, even when Scott retreats early, even when he can hear him jacking off frantically—twice—later, even when the hormones permeate the whole house.

Isaac shrugs it off until he's woken late that night.

His eyes blink open. It takes a while for him to realize what roused him: Scott's silhouette, shrouded in moonlight and heavy scent, beside his bed.

“Oh, it's just you,” Isaac mumbles.

He turns to his side, facing away from Scott, and feels the mattress dip.

“What the …?” Isaac reaches back to shove Scott away—they're not kids, it's hot, and besides, it's Isaac who usually comes to Scott for comfort when the nightmares are too much to bear—but the way Scott grabs his wrist is surprisingly rough.

Isaac wants to jerk his hand away, but he's stopped by Scott grasping his shoulder and pushing him down. Beneath the hard grip lies the threat of claws, and suddenly, Isaac is wide awake.

“That hurts,” he says more annoyed than alert, despite a whisper of fear starting to manifest in his mind. This behavior is more than just odd, and it instantly reminds Isaac of days long past, a childhood of abuse. He shivers.

Scott shows no sign of acknowledgment. He only growls, and the low, feral sound makes Isaac's hair stand on end.

Isaac submits. For a heartbeat, his breath catches in his throat when Scott forces him to lie down flat on his stomach.

When Scott straddles him, Isaac rasps out, “Okay, enough,” but he has the distinct notion that Scott's far from having enough because he yanks the blanket away and pins Isaac with his full weight. Anxiety clutches Isaac's chest and quickly turns to horror when Scott grinds down— _he's_ hard, _oh my god, oh my god_ —with a soft moan.

“I couldn't help but think of you all day,” Scott murmurs. The affection dancing in his words only makes it worse.

Isaac's claws pierce his fingertips at their own volition, but Scott grinds down again, moans again, _growls_ again, and Isaac freezes like a deer in headlights. It's a wolf thing, something about involuntary submission to pack hierarchy or whatever Derek told him—he hates that shit and never really listened—and Isaac knows he'll regain control over himself soon, but for now, he's rendered helpless.

Scott will command. Isaac will comply. As simple as that.

Only it isn't. Not really.

While Scott continues to grind-moan-growl in no particular pattern, his breath a hot whisper on Isaac's neck, Isaac realizes that every time Scott presses his dick against his ass, a spark shoots up his spine. And _that_ is terrifying—that Isaac's body answers assault with arousal.

_This isn't happening. It's just a bad dream._

While the thought is comforting, Isaac is also aware it's a trap. Wishful thinking or making believe never changed shit for the better. Whenever realization hits later, it hits with more force. And yet, he refuses to accept his immediate reality. Especially the arousal part, although it's getting harder to deny by the minute. Scott's breath tickles Isaac's skin, and every smooth thrust increases the friction between the mattress and Isaac's growing erection until it's too much to bear.

Isaac buries his head in his pillow, whimpers a distorted, “Scott, please,” into the fabric, and when Scott shifts, he thinks he's come to his senses.

As it turns out, he's granting him only a tiny respite.

Scott sits back, and while Isaac's mind fumbles to understand what he's doing tugging at his boxers, Isaac realizes two different things: One, Scott's heartbeat is almost drowning out his own, and two, Isaac's own scent is now tinged with a tang similar to the one Scott's been exuding like crazy.

His boxers give way to claws, and Scott forces Isaac's legs apart with his knee. Scott grabs his ass, kneads his cheeks, and that's when Isaac squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can because he knows, he simply knows what's about to happen, despite that Scott wouldn't, no matter what, he'd never…

The words repeat in his head like a mantra— _impossible; he'd never_ —but they don't change the fact that Scott starts thumbing into his cleft or that Isaac's hips automatically buck up at the touch. His dick twitches— _Traitor!_ —and he gasps.

When Scott parts his ass cheeks with both hands, Isaac means to finally shove him off— _That's it, enough!_ —but instead, his claws dig into the mattress and he whimpers softly. The way Scott's fingertips draw circles over his asshole stirs a fire in Isaac he's never known. It's disgraceful. Disgusting. And if that isn't fucked up, nothing is.

But of course, in Isaac's world, fucked up is a downward spiral, always, without fail.

Scott's hands wander down to Isaac's thighs to push at them, and while Isaac understands he's supposed to move, it isn't until Scott hoarsely tells him to that he obeys. He scrambles to his knees but keeps his chest down, face still buried in the pillow, eyes still squeezed shut. He hates that the posture he assumed is so submissive, but at the same time, it feels oddly comforting.

He doesn't notice the words falling from his lips—“Please, Scott, please don't …”—or the tears catching in his lashes now. What he notices instead is a sudden wet heat that's so intense it drowns out everything else. It takes a second for him to register what it is, and when he does, he makes a high-pitched, pitiful sound, both testament to his shocked disbelief at having his asshole licked as well as to his nerves shooting sparks of pleasure through his entire system.

He should fight. End this. This isn't okay; nothing about this is okay. But it's Scott, and it kind of feels good, even though it definitely shouldn't, and it's all so confusing that Isaac lies still, listening to their heartbeats chasing after one another and his own inner mantra.

_Impossible. He'd never._

Scott trails his tongue over Isaac's asshole, drawing circles and lines and patterns that drive Isaac crazy against his will. Judging by the moans and humming sounds Scott makes, all of which resonate through Isaac and threaten to emerge on his own lips, he _enjoys_ it.

And Isaac is thoroughly horrified because his body clearly enjoys it, too. He's so hard it hurts, and he seems to grow even harder with every touch until his legs start to tremble.

When Scott stiffens his tongue and pushes the tip past the ring of muscle, Isaac's eyes cross behind closed lids. He grits his teeth hard enough to emit a loud grinding sound, but he doesn't care.

_No way, no way, he'd never …_

He can't allow the mighty moan that's choking him to escape. He simply can't. And he doesn't. For now.

Scott repeats the motion, thrusts and licks and thrusts and _laps_ at Isaac's hole like a cat licking up cream. He utters occasional content hums, the vibration of which makes Isaac's skin tingle, sending more sparks up his spine, driving him closer to the edge of insanity, until he can't bite it back any longer.

His claws shred the sheets as his moan comes out in the shape of Scott's name.

_Impossible._

As if that's his cue, Scott withdraws. Part of Isaac is relieved, but another part is disappointed, and it makes its presence known by drawing a keen from Isaac's throat that Scott answers with a chuckle.

Between the rush of blood in his ears and the gallop of two heartbeats impossible to tell apart, Isaac hears Scott mumble something, perhaps a command, perhaps something else entirely, but his frazzled mind fails to parse it either way. Next thing he knows Scott flips him over like a ragdoll, as if Isaac isn't over six feet tall, as if he weighs nothing, as if he's worth nothing, and Isaac finds himself on his back with eyes wide open and jaw clenched tight. Scott's eyes glow red, and Isaac is almost certain his own are tinted amber right now.

He searches for a sign of his friend in those eyes and discovers a flicker, barely noticeable but somewhat reassuring. Beyond the wolf is still a human. Still Scott. Somehow, somewhere.

Isaac finds himself drawing his legs up in invitation. It's not like he wants to, but something about Scott's heaving chest and the moonlight catching on his face to outline a small, crooked smile makes him do it anyway. As if he has no choice.

Perhaps that's even true.

His disloyal body trembles when Scott slides over him. Isaac closes his eyes again, focuses on his breath— _easy, even_ —as Scott nudges his hole with the tip before pushing in slowly. Lack of proper lube and all, it fucking hurts. Isaac tenses, but Scott is relentless—not rough, just determined—until Isaac's body surrenders and Scott slides inside him. And then back out, almost completely, only to push back in again a little deeper with a breathless moan.

A few thrusts later, it still hurts, but excitement emerges from underneath the pain, perhaps even a hint of the pleasure he felt before, and Isaac can't help but thrash his head around as if to shake off both. His labored breath comes out in small gasps that follow Scott's rhythm.

 _Impossible,_ it can't be, but it is: Scott's _inside_ him, he's _fucking_ him, and— _please, oh god, please_ —Isaac fails to register anything else. He doesn't feel the tears stinging his eyes, doesn't notice he's giving pain and pleasure a voice alike, doesn't realize he's leaking pre-come, not even when Scott wraps his hand around his aching dick and smears it.

It takes only a few minutes until Scott groans something that might be Isaac's name or not a word at all and stills deep inside him, but to Isaac, it seems like he's caught in his own version of purgatory.

When Scott retreats, Isaac curls up, come leaking down his thighs and pooling on his belly. He can't wrap his head around what just happened, and he doesn't really want to, either. None of this can be true. Not Scott forcing himself on him. Not himself finding pleasure in it, encouraging it even. Not the lingering feeling of emptiness.

Impossible.

_He'd never._

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful [Moit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit).


End file.
